


Vagabond

by Byrcca



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s06e10 Pathfinder, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 17:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19446370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: A missing scene from Pathfinder. How did Tom really feel when he heard his father’s voice over that commlink? A little melodramatic, self-indulgent P/T pap that I couldn’t get out of my head.





	Vagabond

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me while I was writing something else and demanded to be written. Really, it’s a companion piece for something that may not be finished until next spring. I spent far too long riffing off ‘pathfinder’ trying to come up with a title. This will have to do.
> 
> For anyone following Take the Long Way Home, the next chapter is half written but I’m packing a 3 bedroom house and moving in two weeks, then hosting family so I wouldn’t count on an update until mid-August. I’ll try though.
> 
> A big thanks to Caseyptah for the quick beta and for confirming the best ending.

***** 

“ _This is Lieutenant Reginald Barclay at Starfleet Command._ ”

Joy slammed into him, rocked him, made his body sway in his chair. He clamped it down. It wasn’t possible. After all this time… 

“We’re transmitting our ship's logs, crew reports and navigational records to you now.”

It didn’t feel real. Couldn’t be real. It was some sort of trick: a spatial distortion, a subspace echo, mind control. 

“ _There's someone else here who would also like to say something._ ”

A mass hallucination.

“ _This is Admiral Paris._ ”

His smile slid away. Heat washed over him. He should be happy, but it couldn’t be real. 

“ _How are your people holding up?_ ” 

He knew he should be smiling, laughing. He should be flushed with joy and relief like Harry and the captain. And he had been, for a moment.

“Very well. They're an exemplary crew, your son included.”

Tom’s breath caught. He froze in his seat; waited. 

“ _Tell him I miss him…_.”

His father’s voice. It was the same: pitch, timbre, but the tone was wrong. He didn’t sound like his father at all. 

“ _And I’m proud of him_.” 

Was that emotion he heard? Tears? It couldn’t be; a Paris didn’t cry.

“He heard you, Admiral.”

The weight of his captain’s hand pressed heavily on Tom’s shoulder; he felt her fingertips dig into the muscle. 

She smiled at him, and he registered affection in her expression, experienced that primal, subconscious ability of humans to recognize emotions in others. A way to ensure survival: to detect danger, build relationships with others through empathy, a method of enabling an individual to form connections within a group. 

Like this mashed together, misfit crew.

Janeway’s attempt at comfort didn’t touch him. It rolled off of him, around him, like gaseous clouds sliding off _Voyager’s_ shields.

“ _We’re doing everything we can to get you home._ ”

He knew he should be feeling something, but he wasn’t. He felt still. Removed.

There was emotion in Janeway’s voice as she answered his father. “Keep a docking bay open for us. We hope to be home soon.”

The connection was lost. 

His lips were numb, he was warm, then cold. Blood rushing in his ears; a sudden partial deafness. Muffled. Everything felt muffled. He drew a shuddering breath and realized that his lungs still worked. 

Tom stood. He hadn’t intended to, hadn’t thought to, and he wondered that his legs could hold him. His shoulder almost bumped the captain as he rose, and he realized that she hadn’t moved off. He’d thought he was alone at the helm. She angled her head and smiled at him again, but it failed to warm him. She’s short, he thought, the same height as B’Elanna. He almost told her. 

He didn’t know why he was standing.

“Do you need a moment, Tom?”

“I…” _Tell him I miss him._ “Yes.”

Protocol broken. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ _Captain_. She only accepts ma’am in a crunch. Except from him. 

His father called her Katie.

“Use my ready room, Tom. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Formal. Remember protocol. Your training will save you. 

His feet took him to the ‘lift. At least he didn’t trip going up the steps. Harry said his name, but he barely heard, didn’t register the sound his friend had made until he was already in the ‘lift. 

“ _When you lied about the accident I was angry, but I understood. I know you weren’t ready, didn’t have enough experience_.”

His father’s voice in his head. Words spoken in anger seven years ago. 

“ _Angry? You were embarrassed_.”

“ _Yes, I was embarrassed. My son, allowing a dead crewman to take the blame for his mistake._ ”

Seven years! The timbre was the same, but his tone, then, was full of disappointment.

“ _But you didn’t have to leave_.”

Tom called for a deck.

“ _Yes, I did._ ”

He’d felt too large: swollen. Had felt the eyes of everyone on the bridge turned toward him, then he’d shrunk in on himself, had frozen, become small. Too small to see anymore; to be seen. Her hand on his shoulder had anchored him, kept him in his seat, kept him from disappearing. 

“ _I know we’ve had our problems, Tom. I know you enjoy provoking me.”_

The ‘lift doors opened and he walked. Someone passed him, sciences blue, smiling, “Sir.” He nodded. He heard more people ahead laughing, happy. Heard the word ‘home’. Had Janeway made an announcement? 

“ _But the Maquis? How could you do this to your mother?_ ”

He turned left, turned again. And again, until he ran out of corridor and stopped. His hands felt real again. His legs. 

_Tell him I miss him._

Seven years.

 _It’s treason, Tom! If you were still a Starfleet officer, they could jail you for life_.”

He squeezed his eyes shut but he could still see his father’s face: stern, disappointed. Disgusted? Shamed? 

_Tell him I miss him._

Seven long years when he was sure… so sure that his father had hated him.

_And I’m proud of him._

Hard deck under his bottom, the carpet musty, starting to curl away from the bulkhead. A small tear. A scorch mark. It was starting to wear out.

He felt worn out. 

“ _I never wanted to be a Starfleet officer! That was your dream, Dad, not mine._

He was sitting on the deck—when had he sat?—and tears burned his eyes. He didn’t cry. A Paris didn’t cry.

Seven years since he’d been apprehended while flying for Chakotay’s cell. 

“ _If you were still a Starfleet officer, you could be jailed for life._ ”

“Tom.”

“ _I never wanted to be a Starfleet officer! That was your dream, Dad, not mine._ ”

His face in his hands, his palms wet. 

_Tell him I miss him_.

“Tom.”

“ _How dare you attempt to lay this at my feet, Thomas? This mess is not my fault!_.”

“Tom?”

“ _I’m ashamed to call you my son_.”

Connection lost.

“ _Then stop doing it._ ”

Arms around him, a soft cheek pressed to his. The scent of her hair and plasma coolant. “B’Elanna?” Her warm hand cupping his face, callused fingertips on his jaw, touching his ear. 

He pulled her into a fierce hug. Spoke into her hair. “Why are you...?”

She pulled back and looked at him. “Harry commed me when you left the bridge.” She was studying him, her expression serious, dark eyes assessing him.

He scrubbed his cheek with his shoulder. “How did you find me?”

“It took all the resources of _Voyager’s_ engineering and security departments combined but…” Her hand was on his chest, and her fingers brushed his combadge. 

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, then raised his arms and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. She settled beside him in the corridor, seated on the worn carpet, her back against the bulkhead. She leaned into him, her head resting against his upper arm. 

“He misses me.” Tom murmured. The wonder of it. _It didn’t feel real._

“I know.” It was quiet, but he heard the affection, love, in her voice. “The captain piped the conversation through the ship.”

Tom shook his head. “I thought he didn’t care. I thought he’d be happy I was gone, out of his hair.”

Seven years. 

Her fingers were on his cheek, her hand gentle as she turned his head to face her, but her expression was stern. “Tom, he’s your father, of course he cares.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her how she, of all people, could assume that. He shook his head, still unable to reconcile the stern, inflexible man who he used to take such twisted delight in disappointing—the man who he had told to get the hell out of his life—with the voice on the other end of the comm signal that had come through the wormhole. 

He ached, suddenly, and despite B’Elanna’s soft, steady presence, his head was pounding, and his shoulders and neck were stiff and sore. B’Elanna was warm and solid beside him, leaning against him, and he tilted his head so it rested against hers while he reached a hand backward to massage the back of his neck. His palm bumped against the single pip on his collar and he hissed a breath.

_Tell him I miss him and I’m proud of him._

“What?” B’Elanna shifted beside him. Her hand found his chest again, fingers pressing over his heart. “What is it?”

“The captain sent the ship’s logs. When he reads them he’ll know I lost my pip.” He turned his head and stared at her. His lips compressed as shame swamped him. 

“Will he know why?”

“Yeah,” Tom chuffed, “because I disobeyed orders.” His hand fisted and he smacked the floor a few times. 

She smiled at him then, her lips curling upward as she reached for his hand and clasped it tightly. “Does he know why you disobeyed those orders?” Her eyebrow rose.

He shook his head, but stilled again as he thought of the letter he’d written to his father while he’d been in the brig. He wondered if it had sent along with the ship’s logs. It probably didn’t matter, he decided. “He won’t care why. He thinks I got my rank back. Why else would he say he’s proud of me?”

She pulled his hand into her lap, threaded her fingers with his. “Because you’ve proved every day since we’ve been here that you’re an honourable man. And because you're his son and he loves you.” 

When he looked away she reached for his chin and held him there. Her expression was open, honest, but a fire burned in her eyes that warned him that he was pushing the limits of her patience. 

“Tom, they were looking for us. It was no coincidence that that message came through that microwormhole. It was aimed at _Voyager_. And it’s not a coincidence that your father was in the room when Barclay hailed us.” She softened as she smiled at him. “He’s been looking for us. For you. It’s the only explanation.” 

She kissed him then, so soft and sweet that he was inclined to believe anything she said. B’Elanna’s combadge chirped, interrupting them. 

“ _Kim to Torres._ ”

She straightened and tapped her chest. “Torres, here.”

“ _The captain is hosting a small, impromptu celebration in the mess hall this evening, after shift. If you two can tear yourselves away from whatever it is you’re doing, she’d like it if you’d join us._ ”

Tom sighed his relief as his stress left him. “We’d love to, Harry.” He stood, then reached down to clasp B’Elanna’s hand and pull her to her feet. She didn’t need his help, but she allowed it, and he enjoyed the feel of her hand in his, her elbow cupped in his other palm, his hand on her back as they walked toward the ‘lift.

“You can let the captain know I’m headed to the bridge now, Harry.”

“ _Sure, Kim out._ ”

He followed her into the ‘lift. “Engineering,” B’Elanna said.

Tom glanced around the turbolift car but saw no clues. “What deck are we on?”

“Fifteen.” A little head tilt as she looked at him. A raised eyebrow.

“Oh,” Tom smiled; he was fine now. He called for deck one. “Want to be my date for the party later?”

She smiled again, claimed his arm and squeezed; held him down; kept him from flying up to the bridge. 

“Yes I’ll be your date. But I can’t stay long. It looks like I’ll have a lot of reading to do tonight.” At Tom’s confused frown, she elaborated. “This Lieutenant Barclay sent us specs on a new hyper-space technology. I can’t wait to get into it.”

“Oh, yeah. And I guess you’ll be busy with the modifications to the comm system, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Too busy for a celebration dinner?”

She smiled and leaned up to peck him quickly on the lips before the ‘lift doors opened on deck ten. “My quarters, nineteen hundred. Don’t be late, Ensign.”

Tom grinned; breathed. He closed his eyes and felt the vibration of the deck plates beneath his feet, listened to the hum of the moving turbolift car. He straightened his shoulders and inhaled a lungful of air.

The lift doors opened and he stepped onto the bridge. 

***


End file.
